Hello lovely friends!

So I know I haven't updated my other WIP Ocean of Innocence yet and that it's been way too long since I last updated, but I'm really trying to look for inspiration as to where Finnick and Annie's story goes from here. Plus, this idea sprouted into my head and I just cannot for the life of me get it to go away. I'm not sure how long this story will be but updates should be more frequent now that I have a summer. I'll be crazy busy some weeks and have lots of free time others to hopefully have updates rolling pretty smoothly. Anyway, I hope you guys like this story as much as I have enjoyed having it in my head.

I know Christmas is already very far away, but that's kind of when the story appeared in my head and wouldn't get out. So I hope you guys enjoy this little flashback at the beginning to Christmastime. It might take a few chapters for Katniss and Peeta to really meet, but she's still gonna be thrown in there despite everything else happening.

Sooooo, without further ado, here is Chapter 1. Please tell me your thoughts—favorite or follow if you like, or send a review. They are like little day brighteners in a really crazy summer.

I hope you all have a fabulous week!- Annie

DISCLAIMER: Suzanne Collins wrote The Hunger Games and owns these lovely characters. I just love them enough to play around with them in this story.

Prologue: The Most Wonderful Time

It's been a cold winter.

And it's Christmas again.

Every year around this time, back when my brothers and I were kids, we'd spend hours outside rolling around in the snow that always managed to fall right before Christmas or scouring the aisles for that perfect, brilliant green Christmas tree while our mother, who was always in a slightly better mood during the holidays (which still meant she was moody and stubborn at the least) would remind us not to run. We'd even help her decorate our whole house with these old antique nutcrackers which my brother Rye claimed were made by magical elves.

But my favorite part, the one thing I still looked forward to and woke up early for even after I turned eighteen and came home for Christmas from school, was baking Christmas cookies with my dad: spreading the flour out onto the large, wooden counters and frosting and baking and sprinkling so many different types of sugar cookies with all kinds of reds and greens that I'd have little flecks of sprinkles in my hair by the end of the day. Christmas was always the best time of year as a kid, but baking with him was my favorite. Those late nights shoving flour in my brothers' faces and watching my dad as he worked his magic. His uncanny ability to know when cookies were done without a timer, and the way his face would light up as he frosted a Santa hat to perfection… Our family bakery was busiest at Christmas, and for good reason.

My dad was a loved man. Regulars that frequented our shop knew the little place crammed in between the hair salon and antiques store by heart and always ordered the same things every time they came in. They'd tell my father how much everyone loved his bakery, and he'd smile and pat the old women's hands. But I knew the reputation our business had was in large part because of my dad's friendly face and welcoming personality, although his cheese buns and raspberry danishes probably had something to do with it, too. Even newcomers could strike up a conversation with Frank Mellark and stay for thirty minutes just because he'd made them feel at home, even if they'd only meant to run in.

It had been a Christmas just like this one, snow falling in fat, wet flakes, glistening on the street as people huddled in our bakery to hide from the cold and soak in the warm glow of the fireplace my dad stocked with fresh cedar wood every morning. I remember leaning against the counter satisfied, watching the loud chatter of the small café around me. The place my father had built from its very roots, strung with twinkling Christmas lights and wreaths that were strategically placed by my mother—decorating always especially made her more bearable—made the place feel alive. I was proud as I watched people striding past out the front windows, shopping bags in hand, while the group inside the bakery, some strangers and some people I'd known almost my whole life, made the place feel warm. With only three days left until Christmas, this was the first time I was acknowledging how much I wanted this future for myself—a place like this made people light up, it made everything brighter. Whether we got busier and I went home dead on my feet every night, that didn't matter.

My dad had stayed home that day because he'd complained that his shoulders and arms were acting up again. I told him not to worry, to stay in bed and rest up these last few days before Christmas. I'd been at the bakery full time and although my brothers helped out on weekends, they had other jobs. There was never a question that this was what I wanted to do: carry on this place and own it one day.

My mother would say I had the charm of a slug, but my brothers said I was exactly like my dad. And my friends would joke that I could make anybody like me within a simple, five minute conversation about the weather or what type of bread they should buy—whole grain or French?—for their dinner party. Strangers and old customers like Rooba and Sae, two old women that came in twice a week, sometimes together, called me "a dead ringer for Frankie," meaning my father. I did like to strike up conversations, but I still didn't see myself as likeable and magnetic as my dad. The way his eyes shone when he talked… Anyone would believe anything he tried to sell them. Including me.

But about an hour later, my father was dead.

A massive heart attack. Died in his bed. No way to have prevented it. My oldest brother Wes had found him.

I was with Rue, one of my dad's younger employees, laughing about her family's crazy plans for Christmas. Her huge, wide eyes shone as she told me about how they were going to the woods behind their family farmhouse on Christmas Eve to camp out in the freezing snow when I got the call.

My world shattered.

Fifty three years old. And he was my hero.

The funeral was a large affair. I didn't want it to be that way, and neither did my mother or brothers, but he was loved and admired by so many that it only made sense. My mother didn't shed any tears, but she did clasp my hand with a vice-like grip when she saw a silent tear slip down my cheeks as the casket was lowered into the ground. I think she realized at that moment everything she'd spent her life building was falling apart. And despite everything she'd ever said or done in the past that was more than hurtful, I loved her for that.

Once everyone began to clear away from the grave, cold, bitter rain came pouring down and washed away the last remnants of mushy snow.

…

It's a strange thing when someone dies. The world keeps turning and turning and you just expect all life to seemingly stop because yours has. I didn't want to get out of bed, but I knew I had to be the one to open my father's bakery so people could remember him through cheese buns and hot chocolate and the smell of pine needles at Christmas. And that's what spurred me on. My father's funeral was the day before Christmas Eve, and all night I stayed in the shop, baking loaf after loaf of my dad's favorite raisin nut bread to prepare myself for opening tomorrow as the official owner. I saw myself carrying on my father's legacy to remember his amazing life, and that was the only thing that didn't make me feel useless.

Christmas Eve I simply sat in the back kitchen, ignoring texts and calls from my brothers asking why I'd never shown up to dinner at my aunt's, as I tried to feel anything but numb. In the back of the shop, with the ovens that my dad taught me how to use and the weight of his memory and my grief heavy in the air, I cried for all that I had lost. Sobbed until my head ached. Finally allowed myself to break down and mourn, during a time that my father had used to call "the most wonderful time of the year".

Eventually I realized that I was starving, and I flipped off the lights, too numb to care about my red, swollen eyes, as I headed to an isolated bar down the street. Thankfully everyone was with their families tonight and no one would recognize a teary-eyed Mellark roaming the now-dark streets. I made it to the bar when I realized that it wouldn't be open on Christmas Eve, and that to survive this night I'd need to get completely wasted. I needed noise and a night of no thinking. And there was only one club shitty enough to be open on a night that should be spent with family and friends.

I headed there immediately.

After one drink, I felt nothing. After four, I felt a steady fire and a nice, warm feeling seeping through my veins. Then I lost count and couldn't remember why I was alone on Christmas Eve, with a bottle of tequila as my only company, when my brothers were probably worried, when family was more important than ever. At some point, I drunkenly decided that every Christmas Eve, just once a year, I'd allow myself to numb my father's loss and forget who I was just to deal with the pain in the weakest way possible.

Then, after God knows how many shots of tequila, I decided feeling numb and forgetting included a "fuck buddy". Those two words weren't something someone like me used, ever really, and I felt like my best friend Finnick for a moment. I didn't know if I liked it. I wasn't the type of person to sleep with just anyone.

My first Christmas Eve without my father it was a long, leggy blonde with extremely large, fake breasts. The next year Clove, a rough, brown-haired girl with beady eyes. Then Lavinia (a red-head with pretty green eyes), then Katherine (blond and annoying).

This year is five Christmases without my father. But it's strange, because although when I think about it I miss him just as much as I did five years ago, I'm still Peeta. I still laugh with people in the bakery, still smile, still go out with my friends and live a normal life. But as those few days before Christmas approach, I start feeling a little less like myself as I remember my annual night of forgetting is coming up. I know I could stop going to that shitty bar every Christmas Eve and spare myself the hangover and feeling of worthlessness the next day, but whenever I think about ending my trips I feel like I'd be breaking a tradition and somehow forgetting my dad in the process. I'm not in that dark place I was five years ago, and I would say I've healed as much as I ever will. But I just can't shake that feeling that I can't give up my annual day to feel sorry for myself. It's not healthy, and I know that. But that doesn't mean I can give it up, either.

Rue notices my change in demeanor two days before Christmas this year, and she points it out. She's not a fifteen-year-old newbie anymore: she's twenty and works here over the summer and during her school breaks. Despite the fact that she's the sweetest, tiniest little thing ever, she'll always tell me it like it is in the simplest manner possible that makes everything seem so easy. It makes me think of her as the little sister I never had.

"What are you doing, Peeta?"

I'm trying to jam a receipt into the register but it simply won't fit since we've already sold about half of our stock today. I sigh and run my hands through my hair, remembering that there's no reason for me to be so on edge.

"Nothing—I just, I was trying to fix the register. Sorry, Rue."

She smiles a soft little smile and reaches over to put her hand on my arm. "You okay?"

I look over at her and smile. There's that knowing look in those big, brown eyes again. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

Rue frowns. "Okay. Well, why don't you let me empty that and you can go frost some ginger bread cookies in the back?"

I nod my head. "I'll do that." She's just about to turn away to go grab a pouch for all of the crumpled up receipts when I stop her with my voice.

"And Rue Berry, thanks. You always know what to say." I stick my tongue out at her because I know she hates the nickname my dad coined for her ages ago. She groans and skips away from me. I laugh softly and then get on with my day. No use in fighting the inevitable. For now, I'll try to avoid the looming threat of Christmas Eve as much as possible.

…

I'm not even sure I have the energy to feel numb tonight after the long days I've been working at the bakery. All I want to do is sleep.

Of course, my phone is already vibrating with messages from my brothers, who are begging me to come this year. They're not idiots, and when I show up hung over every Christmas day, they can guess where I've been.

It's three o'clock, and my family's dinner starts at five. I have two hours to decide.

Rye: Peet, please come this year. We'll miss you, man.

Wes: Hey, are you coming tonight?

Wes: Peeta. Wake the hell up. Come on. This isn't you.

Finnick: Going with your family tonight?

Well, shit. Finnick's even harassing me now, and he used to be the man whore in our circle of friends.

I will admit they're making me think twice. I mean, this year, it feels wrong to betray my family and miss Christmas, even though I've done it the past five years in a row. But this year, it also just feels wrong to use some other girl for a night. That's not who I am. It feels wrong to sleep with some random person only to never actually call her, but it feels wrong to break this twisted tradition I've established. It all feels wrong.

I finally decide that I won't beat myself up again and think of my father by forgetting myself. He wouldn't want that. There are other ways to make his memory live on. But I also decide that this year I'm not ready to go to my family's dinner yet and face the questions like, where have you been for the past five years? I decide to instead stay in the back of my father's bakery and make some of that raisin nut bread. But when the clock ticks nearer and nearer towards five, I begin to feel restless. I can't do this. I can't spend another year alone. I have to face the questions and accept the truth. I have to let go.

I hurry upstairs above to my loft to change and then pile some leftover sugar cookies onto a plate as an offering of apology for all the years I've missed. When I show up at the door however, no one questions it. Rye smiles, Wes claps me on the shoulder, and even my mother hugs me. Nothing makes me feel out of place.

It's my family, and I like it. I finally feel like myself again. And that maybe this Christmas can begin years of Christmases that aren't so bad.

On New Year's Eve

I meet my friends at Abernathy's like usual on a busy and hectic New Year's Eve. The place is all decked out with Happy-New-Year-hats and signs and already drunk people singing along to the music that the band is playing. It's funny how just three years ago, before Effie Trinket was hired by an anonymous person that Haymitch swears wasn't himself to spruce the place up, this bar was dimly lit and reeked of stale liquor. Now, with a little help of an interior decorator/ entrepreneur, like Effie reminds me she is every time she sees me, the place looks like something nice that somehow Haymitch would own. Flairs of his are still there in the leather seating and the menu board that ranges from all of his favorite selections to that "damn cobb salad", but the whole place is tainted with a touch of coziness that makes the spot a hit for a lot of people. Although whenever I need to think, I still take Finnick or Delly or Johanna, whichever will have the best advice at whatever shitty moment, or sometimes all three, to that isolated bar where my first lonely Christmas Eve was spent. This place is more of a regular stop though for people coming into the city for a night.

"Peeta!" Delly squeals when she notices me striding to the table. "Hey!" She hugs me tight, that almost suffocating yet oddly comforting smell of roses hitting my nostrils the same way it always has. We've been best friends since we were five, and she's like a sister. And I think she's been wearing the same perfume since our freshman year of high school.

Finnick claps me on the shoulder and Annie, his wife, hugs me softly, while Jo just rolls her eyes and shoves me good naturedly.

"So Blondie, got a hot date showing up this year?"

I chuckle. "No, Jo, sorry to disappoint. But I did hear you have a friend showing up."

Johanna's smirk quickly turns into a signature scowl. "What the hell? Who told him?!"

I laugh. "You'll never be able to live it down now, Jo. And I found out last week from Annie when I dropped by their house to drop off some Christmas cookies. How did you meet this mysterious, dark-haired Gale?"

She snorts. "Ugh, God I should've known. And I met him from a friend at work, so it's nothing. Shut up."

Despite her apathetic, pissed-off demeanor, her cheeks are red, and I can tell that she's embarrassed, which only makes me think this guy and her are as serious as Annie said. I've never seen her blush over any guy, ever. Call him crude names and ask him for sex the moment they meet? That's what I tend to see more of.

I shrug. "Just be happy I don't ask the vulgar types of questions that you've asked whenever I've brought a girl for you to meet."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Mellark! And if you say one word tonight, I will kick your sorry ass. Now, you interrupted what I was going to say earlier. Which was that you, my sexy friend, need to get laid."

Finnick chimes in. "Jo, if I didn't know you as well as I do I'd figure you want to lay him yourself." And then she's cackling, doubled over on the floor with laughter while Annie just smiles at me sympathetically and Madge pulls me in for a tight hug. I know almost all of them from high school, besides Johanna and Annie and Thom, Delly's boyfriend, and a tingling warmth spreads throughout my chest when I think about all of my friends that I'm lucky to have, even after my trip to hell and back.

We are all talking later on and I'm in the midst of listening to Madge and Annie tell a story about one of their coworkers at the elementary school down the street when I subtly notice Annie's water that hasn't been replaced with her usual glass of wine at all tonight. And sure enough, when Annie mentions loving the kids at school despite the crazy things they do, Finnick wears a shit-eating grin and Annie glances over at him as her eyes light up.

I smile wistfully. "Something going on here, Fin?"

Annie's eyes widen and Finnick just laughs. "You know me too well, Peet." He takes a deep breath and then addresses the group by glancing around at all of us. Johanna's eyebrows are raised comically high.

"Annie… she's pregnant."

There's a chorus of small shrieks and congratulations and toasts and questions about how far along she is and Delly's already asking about names… And there's so much hope in just one little baby that it makes me smile.

I squeeze Annie's knee. "You're gonna be a great mother."

Her eyes are glistening with tears and she throws her arms around my neck. Her lips whisper into my ear, "Finn's said so much about how great you've been over these past years, Peeta, and I didn't believe all his stories until I met you. We already have plenty of plans for Uncle Peeta."

I chuckle and shoot Finnick a glance. He's hugging Madge tightly. "I'd be honored, Ann."

She leans up and wipes her tears. "Oh, I'm even more emotional now than usual!" And then a whisper again as she smiles and pats my hand. "I'm glad. You've meant so much to Finnick, and to me, too. We just want you to be happy."

If it was the I-want-you-to-be-happy spiel from anybody other than Annie, I would roll my eyes. But because it's her, I know she truly means it and isn't necessarily pushing me to go find a wife and settle down myself, unlike everybody else and their mother.

So I say, "How could I not be happy? Some of my best friends in the world are gonna be parents!"

She grins again, and at midnight, when the horns are sounding and fireworks are booming, I find myself wondering what little baby Odair will be like.

6 months later

It's a hot summer day and the AC is blasting the back of my neck as I stand in the front of the bakery, trying to cool off after working right alongside the ovens for forty five minutes, when Finnick barges in, a crazed look on his face.

The next words out of his mouth make me double over in laughter.

"I need your buns. Like now."

I'm guffawing as I walk over to him and look at the large bag he's brought along, that's filled with two empty Tupperware containers sitting on top of what looks like three gallons of strawberry ice cream and pickles. Annie must be craving more foods now. Last month, it was pretzels. All the time. Every time I saw her at their apartment and even when she'd come to get drinks with all of us on Friday nights, she'd have a to-go bag of pretzels. This month must be crazier.

I pull myself together and say, "Thanks, Finn. I'm flattered. You want them hot?"

Finnick, despite the stressed-out look and the way he's running his fingers through his hair, cracks a smile. "Shut up and get me the Goddamn cheese buns, Mellark."

"Wow," I say, "Johanna's twin right here." Nonetheless, I swiftly bag them up because I know Annie must be tired and moody, and it's probably getting to him. She's not a naturally irritable person, so every once in a while when she has an extremely hormonal day with lots of angry and misunderstood tears, poor Finn doesn't really know how to handle it. But if she wants cheese buns, I can at least help with that.

As soon as I pile them into the containers for him, he rushes out and thanks me. I tell him I'll stop by later with more just in case to cheer Annie up a bit, and, and he yells out an "okay" as he's making his way out the door. I shake my head and then start cleaning up just before I leave to meet our group for drinks again. This time, Johanna's now steady boyfriend Gale, who was at first a little dark and mysterious just like Annie described, has now warmed up to me and asks about the bakery and how things are going every time I see him. I tell him all of the usual stuff about it, and he asks about business, which makes sense considering he's a businessman himself. But Jo's good for him: she loosens him up, and he looks at her like she's hung the moon every time I see them together.

I wait for Annie and Finnick to show up so I can decide if I need to run over to their house like I said I would or stay here and wait for them. They live about fifteen minutes away, in a nice house right on the beach. I decide to give them a few more minutes.

They don't show up. I start to worry because they always come when they say they will, and even if Annie started to feel sick, she would've told Finnick to go without her. Maybe he still stayed home. Hell, maybe she went into labor a week early. I don't know. Either way, I want to go check.

I'm on my way out to my car when I get the call. An eerily familiar call, a call that stops time, that deadens you, that makes you feel like life itself is ending.

"Am I speaking with Mr. Mellark?"

I exhale in surprise. "Yes, may I ask who is calling?"

"Hello, yes, I'm with the Intensive Care Unit here at Ford Sea Hospital. You are both Mr. and Mrs. Odair's emergency contact?"

I freeze. I froze after the words "Intensive Care Unit"... Of course they'd call me before anyone else. Finnick and Annie's families both live out of town. Are they okay? What happened? Oh shit! Is the baby okay?

My thoughts are running in a million different directions and it's so different from when my father died because I know they're still alive. There is time to save my best friends and their baby.

"Yes," I say, rushed. "Oh my God. I'm on way. What happened? Shit, what happened? Is the baby okay? Are they okay? I mean, how bad is it? I-"

"You're going to need to calm down, Mr. Mellark. Can you do that for me? Deep breaths. I'm sorry, but it was an automobile accident that happened on Highway 20. I don't have all the details, but it would be much appreciated if you would come in."

"Of course," I say, my throat suddenly thick with the thought of Finnick's face earlier today, so flustered and willing to do whatever Annie wanted. He'd die for her, there was no denying that. And the way they talked about their soon-to-be-born baby and how magical it would be to raise their child to love the ocean and to teach him or her all about how not to act, which would basically be a summary of Finnick himself from age 21 to 23. And this… this was so unexpected that I couldn't even remember the last time I'd truly looked him in the eye and told him how much he meant to me. "I'm heading that way now. I'll be there in five minutes."

"Okay, Mr. Mellark. Thank you. Drive safely, please. There's no need to rush and put yourself in danger. We're doing everything we can, and they are in the best possible hands here."

I nod, even though she can't see, and then hang up.

During the drive my hands are clenched tight, and my mind is racing. Thinking of different possibilities, outcomes… Hopefully I can see them as soon as I get to the hospital but if they're in the ICU, doesn't that mean it's serious? I can't lose them. They can't lose each other. They can't lose the baby.

I park my car at a screeching stop and rush past the double doors as I see a tired-looking, old woman frown somberly in my direction. There are only so many things that a man running into a hospital can mean, and usually they're not good.

When I check in and tell the grave-looking woman that I'm the Odairs' emergency contact, her brown eyes dull too quickly. It scares the hell out of me. My heart is beating so fast I think it might erupt inside of my chest. She leads me past the whitish, glaring doors into a pale, blank, eerily silent waiting room. I can't sit, so I pace until an older man, in his fifties with graying hair and a dead look inside his tired eyes, greets me as Doctor Edison. He shakes my hand and leads me through another set of doors, past another row of desks into a tiny alcove, right in the heart of the ICU.

"Hi, Mr. Mellark. Why don't you take a seat-?"

"I'm sorry, but I need to know what's happening right now," I interrupt. I can't even think about sitting down right now. "I mean, Fin and Annie are my best friends. What happened? How bad was the accident? I-"

"Mr. Mellark," Dr. Edison rushes, holding his hands out in front of his tired eyes, "I know it's hard, but you need to calm down. I'm going to make a rare exception and allow you to see your friend Annie, because she's going to need some support, I think. Can you do that for me?"

I can feel my wild, bulging eyes boring into his, but I can't process any of my thoughts. All I know is that I need to save my friends and their baby.

"I mean, of course," I sputter, "But what about Finnick? I mean, I'd like to see him too. Are there rooms close to each other?"

Dr. Edison's eyes fall down, and my heart stops. I've seen that look before. The pity, the detached sorrow, the face that lets me know they've failed and that I've failed and that something is really wrong.

"I'm sorry, son, but your friend Finnick did not make it. And Annie, her head wound is severe. It's caused internal bleeding in her brain that might make her chance of survival slim. We're doing everything we can, but we believe her brain stem has been damaged beyond repair. She is alive—shallowly breathing but fighting. If we are to perform any sort of surgery, we need to perform a c-section immediately to remove the baby so that we can use the proper kinds of drugs that would normally harm a fetus. You have a choice, Mr. Mellark. And I know this is extremely hard, but I'm afraid you have to make it quickly. Annie is progressively slowing in both mental and physical function. We can immediately perform surgery, which may not even give us another chance at the rate she has progressed. However with that surgery would mean an almost assured miscarriage, considering the drugs and the strain of surgery and recovery that would not allow the fetus to survive. Although even if you choose to allow Annie to deliver the baby and instead opt out of surgery, the stress that has been inflicted upon the baby could lead to possible complications. Do you need a minute to process all of this?"

His voice faded out somewhere after "did not make it". All I can think about is my best friend, and all of the memories… The things he knew about me, the places we went to, and the stupid shit we did… I always did it with him. Everything, since the time I'd met him, had made sense because I had found my best friend in him. Just this morning his sleepless face had even managed to crack a smile for me, and no matter what the situation, he could lighten it. The light being gone, fading away in some cold, hospital bed as he laid there alone… His end, the accident: it all flashes through my head. I imagine spinning darkness, and the Finnick I knew only being concerned about his wife and unborn child. The chaos and fear of the last hour, even after the amazing, happy life he lived. All wasted for nothing.

I think I might be falling to my knees until Dr. Edison pats a hand on my shoulder. It's only then that I feel the wet tears sliding down my face and ask myself why me, why him, why anyone?

I thought I had experience with this whole death thing.

It only takes a glance at the doctor's well-hidden sense of urgency that makes me realize I still have something to live for. Finnick still has something that means something to him in this world. And it's about to be taken away. I see the choice clearly.

It's Annie or the baby.

For a brief second, I want to give up. I want to scream that it's unfair, that he can't expect me to choose for two people that should be making this decision together.

But there's no time for that. And I know what both Finnick and Annie would choose, if they were here to choose together.

The baby. They would save their baby.

I don't realize I've said the words aloud until Dr. Edison is taking my arm and rushing to go deliver the baby. He asks if I want to see.

For some reason, maybe just to see Annie and see the face of the little bit of Finnick left in the world as soon as it arrives, I say yes.

I'm in a daze as I'm suited up and shoved in blue fabric from head to toe. I haven't even secured my mask before the operation begins. I can hear the frantic mumbles of doctors as I step into the glaring, bright light of the operating facility. I can smell the strong antiseptic flooding the cold room.

But my eyes immediately focus on Annie. I notice the gauze, the whiteness of the sheets now being stripped from her body… it kills me. I don't ever want to remember her this way, and now it's ingrained in my brain. The once beautiful, shining Annie with her emerald eyes and kind, heart-shaped face has transformed into someone I can't even identify as her.

I'm about to be sick when Dr. Edison tells me in a loud voice, one that echoes over the quiet din of surrounding doctors, that the incision is being made.

I step tentatively toward the side of the bed to hold Annie's hand because all of this feels wrong. It feels invasive and distorted because Finnick should be in my place and Annie should be smiling up at him, reassuring him that everything is going to be okay. Instead, Finnick is gone, and Annie's lifelessness that seems to be hidden under the layers of white gauze scares me. I loved them both. And I still do. She can't leave me, too.

Her eyelids are barely fluttering, and her pale, limp body haunts me. I can hear metal tools clanking and a soft but urgent doctor giving directions to the three other medical professionals in the room. I stand alone at the head of the sterile table, grasping Annie's hand for dear life and rubbing circles on it, trying to bring some warmth back into her cold, grayish hand.

I'm in a trance, thinking of nothing but what is happening right in front of me because it's what they would want. I've heard that things like this aren't supposed to last too long, but it feels like hours as the doctor's work and prod as Annie's beautiful, happy life slips farther and farther away. I can't see the procedure or her open stomach because of the wall of sheets and blankets the doctors have purposely put into place, and I'm glad. All I want to focus on is Annie, staying strong for her, desperately hoping and praying for her to make it.

And that's what I do. I don't take my eyes off of Annie's cold face, illuminated by the blinding lights of the operating room.

Until I hear a single, loud cry.

Hands are pushing the blankets down, and Doctor Edison's face appears, a soft smile on his face as he towels off the warm, squirming tiny little human being in his hands. A doctor is recording information at a computer about the time of birth and the health of the baby and the sex…

It's a girl. And she's perfect, absolutely healthy with a completely phenomenal, strong heartbeat.

"Incredible," I whisper. Before I'm even thinking about it I'm reaching for her, reaching for the tiny hands and tiny feet and perfect little angelic face with such soft features like her mother. It isn't until I see those piercing, beautiful, bright green eyes that are uniquely Finnick's that I feel another tear slip down my cheek. The umbilical cord is cut and their little girl, my niece, is placed into my arms.

She's warm, soft, fragile, and glowing. She's everything.

Her cries have turned to little panted gasps as a few doctor's work to put Annie back together while Doctor Edison tells me that whenever I'm ready, little baby is ready to be cleaned off. I don't even think about handing her over yet. Not before she has the chance to see her own mother.

I try to beat away feelings that this is wrong, that I have to be the one to hold their child first and not them, as I gently rest the baby against her mother's chest. She squirms a little closer, right towards Annie's heart, and I can just imagine this tiny little miracle baby warming her mother from the inside out and bringing her back to health.

But that's not the case. Just a few moments later, Annie's eyes are fluttering open and I can see her shallow breaths as she breathes, "A girl. So beautiful… Peeta. I—love her."

Now tears are streaming down my face in earnest. "I know you do, Ann. She's still yours. You have to fight. You have to hang on."

Annie's eyes crinkle and her face contorts into a tiny smile of acceptance and grief and love all so intense it forms a fissure in my heart.

"Don't—be sad. Peeta. Finnick… she is me—and—and Fin. And we—he… would want her…" her voice trails off in a hoarse crack, but I can see in her eyes the determination to finish her sentence before her eyes give up and flutter closed. "He would want her… to be yours. If she couldn't—be ours."

And with that, her eyes flutter closed, and it's the last time I ever see the eyes of Annie Cresta. Eyes that used to show shining concern and unparalleled empathy.

I still have the baby, and I feel shaky. Doctor Edison seems to understand as he gently removes their daughter from my weakening arms.

I sob.

I grip Annie's hand and lay my head on her unmoving chest as I weep for all that I have lost, like a child that needs its mother's heartbeat to reassure itself. But this time, there's no sound.

I don't know how long I am there before the Doctor comes back in, their little girl nowhere in sight, as he tells me my friends are here. Delly, Johanna, and Madge tentatively step into the operating room, still too bright for my eyes.

Doctor Edison turns off the overhead light on his way out to wait in the hall.

Madge's face contorts when she sees me, lying there next to Annie's prostrate body, and then all four of us are crying, even Johanna's head buried in my shoulder as we become a mass of arms tangled around each other. We've all lost two of our best friends.

Delly's heaving sobs barely allow her to speak, but somehow she does. "Oh my God. Where is—where is the baby? And Fin… Oh, Peeta. You are—so brave. The bravest… person I know."

Madge is sobbing uncontrollably and has her face buried against the slightly bloody gown of Annie's sewn-up stomach.

And Johanna won't come out from the side of my shirt as her shoulders shake hard and silently.

After what feels like hours, Jo emerges, a dead, determined look on her face. She's decided to be the strong one.

"Look, we need to let her body go. We need to come to terms with letting this part of her—go." Her voice slightly falters. "And then we can see Fin."

My throat closes up just thinking about seeing my very best friend lying on a table, cold and lifeless.

"No," I say, too firmly. "It's not how he or Annie would want us to remember him. We need to let their bodies be."

Delly lets out another sob, and Jo nods one time, fast as her eyes start to blink unnaturally again.

I tentatively stand up, and it's like all the blood rushes to my head. The dizziness almost consumes me but Delly grabs my hand and squeezes.

"I'm going to let the doctors know we've said our goodbyes to her. That way, we can- uh- move somewhere more comfortable and wait to see the baby."

Jo stands, and the other girls follow. We walk out of the room, and don't look back.

One thought gets me to the end of the hall and through the short, stabbing conversation with Doctor Edison. This thought takes me past the grieving couple that is slumped against the wall, and past a crying, grey-eyed, raven-haired girl that self-consciously looks up as we trudge by. She's alone, and I would probably find her beautiful if I wasn't so numb. But it's my one thought, the little baby girl, who a few minutes later we see through a glass window in the infant's ward, that keeps my shaky control maintained.

I want to give this little girl everything. And because they can't, I will try to.

Now, she is not only theirs but mine, too. Just like Annie said.

A part of me that is foreign and strange and so utterly protective arises and fills that fissure in my heart, the one that cracked back in that operating room.

She is what will hold me together, from now on, no matter what.

And tonight is just the beginning.

Hope you liked! I know the beginning is long and drones about Peeta, but I really wanted everyone to understand his story and where he's coming from. Also, I know this is the longest prologue ever, but I wanted to preface this birth and the situation because after a few chapters of Peeta getting used to being a father and having some subtle run-ins with Katniss, we might jump like two years to about a two-year-old little girl with Peeta so we can officially bring Katniss in. Anyway, thanks for reading!